9. Fire and Fear #2
Mason had made it to the barn while Falon and I were still in there, and had already pulled his gear from his truck bed.
Levi had the gate between the properties open, moving the horses out of the way so the trucks could get in without hurting them.
Austin had eyes on the structure, reading it the same way I was.
I looked at the barn.
The volunteer crew was pulling up. Four trucks.
Everwood ran on a ghost crew, but volunteers made up most of the department and had been for 30 years.
Men and women, all happy to help. The fire chief was directing the hose setup, and Mason fell in beside him.
Mason knew fire the way he knew everything else in this town.
Falon sat in the back of Mason’s truck in the care of her parents, and I went to work.
The next forty minutes were controlled chaos.
The smooth operation of the fire response focuses water on the hot spots, provides ventilation at the roofline to pull the smoke, and protects the standing walls from the spread.
The horses were out, and the structure was a loss, but the horses and Falon were fine, and that mattered the most.
While I worked, I thought of what I almost lost. When I was overseas, Falon had always been on my mind.
She was the reason I had enlisted. Yeah, I did it with Tyler, but our motives were very different.
He wanted to make a dent in the world. I wanted to escape heartache and hoped that training and distance would help me find perspective, and it did.
But as I expected, every close call, every almost, they all reminded me that if something did ever happen, then Falon would never know.
Somewhere in the middle of it, John Jenkins appeared.
He'd come from the far pasture in his truck, face white, moving through the yard with a stunned gait and confusion. I watched him count the horses. Once. Twice.
He crossed the yard and spotted me, making a beeline for me.
His hand was shaking when he held it out. He’d been crying.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, son."
I took his hand. Shook it. Looked him in the eye.
I was about to correct him.
It wasn't me. Falon got four of them out before I arrived. She went in five times.
But John Jenkins was sixty-eight years old, and his barn was half gone, his wife was crying at the fence, his horses were alive, and the man in front of him was the one he found first. He was just happy we were all here.
"Your horses are good," I said. "All five."
He nodded. Squeezed my hand once more and went back to Beatrice.
I stood there for a moment.
Then I found Falon across the yard.
She was on the tailgate of Mason's truck, blanket around her shoulders, Melodie beside her. Still coughing on the smoke. She was watching me the way she'd been watching me for the last ten minutes. I'd felt it even when I was deep in the work and couldn't look back.
I held her gaze and smiled.
Then, raised my chin once. A silent question. “Are you all right?” I mouthed.
Her expression didn't change, but she nodded, a little subdued. It was either the adrenaline wearing off or something had upset her; I could tell by the set of her shoulders. I’d have to find out later. Right now, we need to put this fire to rest.
Mrs. Winslow was directing two volunteers like a four-star general, which was standard. She’d been like that our whole life. The balloon shirt and tulle skirt were not standard for anyone but her. One of the younger firefighters actually saluted her.
She winked at Falon without breaking stride.
By eight-fifteen, the fire was out, and the volunteers were released one at a time as the chief did a quick head count. He’d gently redirected Mrs. Winslow back to town half an hour ago to order the crew some sandwiches for the station. She’d been happy to help, treating the job like a mission.
Falon and her parents had gone back to her house and had been there for some time. Which was probably for the best. She was going to need some rest and a good, long shower to wash off all the soot and clear her lungs of the smoke.
I sat on the back bumper of the fire chief's truck after, and looked at what was left of the Jenkins barn.
The back was gone. The tack room was a loss.
The hay storage was ash. But the horses were alive, and John and Beatrice were sitting together on the tailgate of John's truck, her head on his shoulder, both in emotional shock.
Mason dropped down beside me. He had soot on his face, and his jacket sleeve was scorched at the cuff.
"She was in there before you," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Five times," I said.
He nodded. Looked at the barn. "John doesn't know."
"Nope." I shook my head.
Another silence.
"You going to tell him?"
I thought about John's shaking hand, his wet eyes, and Beatrice crying at the fence.
"Not today," I said.
Mason nodded like that was the right answer, because we both knew it was.
Mason drove me back to the ranch, the morning still smelling of smoke even with the windows down.
The adrenaline had drained out somewhere around the time the last hose was rolled up, and what was left underneath it were emotions I didn’t know what to do with.
Fear that I could have lost her. Worry about what upset her.
And the one I'd been running from for years.
I loved her. I'd always known. I just hadn't let myself say it, even in my own head, until now.
But after this morning. I knew that everything had changed, at least for me.
Mason pulled into the drive, and we sat there for a minute.
“You going in there, or do I have to call Sarah and let her know we have a house guest?” Mason joked.
“Ha, ha. But seriously, thanks for being there today.”
“It’s what we do,” he said. “Now get out. It’s time to go home.” I walked to the door, and I thought back.
Four trips.
She'd made four trips into a burning barn before I got there. Before anyone got there. With nothing but her own nerve, a wet flannel shirt, and stubbornness. She would never have left things behind.
She could have been in there when the back wall went.
The thought made my chest tighten.
She was in there, and I was at Ethel's eating a Danish and arguing about beef jerky. She was saving horses, and we were poking fun.
Three months.
I'd been telling myself for three months since April. Timelines kept me sane, and having a plan was essential. As a man who had lived by deadlines and missions, I didn’t know any other way. Three months and then I figure out what's next.
But, after today, I realized three months wasn't the point. It had never been.
The point was that she'd gone into a burning barn five times, and the thought of a world where she didn't come out had me double-guessing everything I thought I knew.
Three months wasn't long enough. Three years wasn't long enough.
I didn't know what enough actually looked like. But I knew what it wasn't. It wasn't July, and it wasn't temporary.
I looked at the farmhouse. The light was on in the kitchen.
Melodie's car was in the driveway. She'd come back with Falon. I thought about going in, but what was I going to say? If I were alone with her, I’d pull her into my arms and tell her to never scare me like that again, but not now.
Right now, she needed her mom. I would be here when her mom went home. And I would.
Mason had left a bit ago, leaving me on the porch deciding what to do. I walk around to the guest house. I take a shower, then go out to the chickens. The animals calm me.
The morning still smelled like smoke. Frank was on his fence post, watching me cross the yard with a judgmental look. I never could tell if he liked me.
"I know," I tell him.
He crows anyway.